


the envy of the stars

by trinasmendel



Category: Falsettos - Lapine/Finn
Genre: F/M, also i’m too lazy to tag this, anyways trindel fluff have fun, i dont remember the author, i’ll check and come back, no I’m not, sorry - Freeform, this was inspired by a fic called pockets of peace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 00:40:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29269653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trinasmendel/pseuds/trinasmendel
Summary: Little reminders of his love crop up in your life every single day. Notes he wrote you hidden around the house, flowers he brings home just because “you deserve them, Trin,” the way he says “I missed you” after a long day at work, the way he lifted you in his arms and spun when you told him you were carrying his child. The way he makes you smile when you’re not expecting it.
Relationships: Trina/Mendel Weisenbachfeld
Comments: 8
Kudos: 14





	the envy of the stars

Every morning that you wake up in his arms is a good day. 

Every morning when you open you eyes, and see the sun rays drifting in shafts through your window, and you feel the weight of his arm over your waist, and his breath on the very small of your neck, and the stubble of his beard gently scraping the back of your head as he lifts his lips to give you a gentle kiss, you know it’s a good day. 

Every morning when he lazily says good morning to you, and snuggles back in against you to sleep in, and you feel a small tear of joy running down your cheek because you love him, you know it’s a good day. 

Every day you wake up next to him is good. 

And that is one thing you know will never change. 

Sometimes you fall back asleep with him, both of you drifting in and out of consciousness and pressing small kisses to each other’s cheeks or temples in the small moments when you’re awake. 

Sometimes you grab him by the arm and pull him on top of you, and as he settles between your legs he tells you how lucky he is, to have you and to be wanted by you. 

Sometimes he gets up to go to work, and you are left alone. But you know he will be back at the end of the day with jokes and stories to fill the empty space he left in the home in his absence. 

And he doesn’t care what the state of the house is when he gets back.  
He doesn’t care if there’s dinner on the table, on the stove, or no dinner at all.  
He doesn’t care if Jason and the dog made a mess in the living room and you were too lazy to clean it up.  
He doesn’t care if you deep-cleaned the entire house or you weren’t able to get out of bed at all.  
He always walks through the door with a kiss and a “Hello, lovely.”  
And you are grateful. 

Some days when you don’t get out of bed, he scoops you up in his arms and carries you downstairs. Sometimes you laugh. Sometimes you cry, his shirt balled up in your fist and your head leaning into his chest. And he puts you on the couch and sits down and asks how bad it was that day. And you tell him everything. 

Some days when you don’t get out of bed, he gets in beside you. Still in his clothes from work that day, he snakes his arms around you and allows you to cry, or scream, or laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. And he runs his hands through you hair and tells you how much he loves you. 

He is always there. When the nightmares come at night and you’re defenseless, powerless to stop them. He is there with his strong arms and warm embrace, and he makes you feel safe again. He’s there when it gets so bad that all you can do is run into battle swinging, and he makes sure you don’t fall on your own sword. Even when you have to close your eyes and you feel the walls caving in around you, he holds your hand and tells you everything will be okay.  
And it always is.  
You always return to him, after the battles.  
You are always safe in his arms again. And he holds you tight to him and never stops telling you how much he loves you.  
And for the first time, you believe him. 

On the days he stays home you make breakfast together. He’s an awful cook, but you get a good laugh whenever he spills flour all down his shirt or trips over his own feet. He never admits why he’s so clumsy, but you can tell it’s because he’s always staring at you in the awe and wonder of a man deeply in love with his wife.

It feels so good to be wanted by someone, to be craved, needed. And he gives you all of that, and more. He gives you safety, security and arms around your waist pulling you back up whenever you stumble. He gives you sunny days, and warm winter nights by the fire with a cup of hot chocolate in hand and your head on his shoulder. He gives you child-like joy, pillow forts and blowing bubbles in the backyard with your son, the family dog jumping up to try and clamp the iridescent spheres in his jaws. He gives you smiles across the room, little waves and silly faces that make you laugh when your ex-husband tests your patience yet again. He gives you love, endlessly and unconditionally. 

You have never had these things before. 

And they’re sweet, like cotton candy that melts on your tongue except these things don’t melt away. They are consistent, never faltering or failing because he is just that good. And one day you realize you don’t care if Marvin can’t see that. Because he is good for you, and you are good for him. And that is all that you need to know. 

Little reminders of his love crop up in your life every single day. Notes he wrote you hidden around the house, flowers he brings home just because “you deserve them, Trin,” the way he says “I missed you” after a long day at work, the way he lifted you in his arms and spun when you told him you were carrying his child. The way he makes you smile when you’re not expecting it. 

All of these things together fill your heart so full that you feel like it can burst at any moment. And you take the love he gives you and you give it back the best you can, and it’s enough for him. It’s everything for him. He tells you that every day. That you are his everything. And slowly, slowly, you start to believe him. 

You can feel it in his touch, too. Whether it’s his arm around your waist when you’re dancing like idiots in the kitchen or his hands traveling your entire body on the days when Jason is gone, you feel his need for you. Every touch sparks something inside of you, a curl of desire, a bubble of hope. On the quiet nights you share when Jason is at his father’s house, he takes his time in touching you. And not just in places where he knows will derive sweet sounds from your lips and lust from your every pore. He takes his time in exploring you, wandering his hands and lips around as he takes in every curve and angle of your frame. And as your insecurities rise and you wonder that he must be judging you, he takes your hand, like he can read your thoughts. And he gives it a small squeeze as to say “Never.” And you smile at him and he carries on. 

And you think about how jealous the stars are of your love. It’s a silly thought, and a random one, but you look up at the stars as you sit on your porch railing with your head on his shoulder and you think it. And then you ask him about it. And he replies with a simple “Yes, my love, they are jealous. Who wouldn’t be jealous of two soulmates sitting under the great sky together?”  
And tears flood your eyes and you believe it. You believe everything, everything he’s ever told you. About how much he loves you. And you smile at him, and he smiles at you. And you pick out a star together. That’s your star, now. And he tells you that every time you’re apart, (which won’t happen anyways, he says) that you can look at that star, and know he’s looking at it too. It’s so wonderfully and sickly cliche that you can’t help the tears from falling. He slides his hand into yours. And both of you sit there, together. Just breathing in the moment. And you look at your star. 

He treats you like a goddess, a piece of art designed by the finest sculptor. Only he doesn’t treat you like an object at all, rather the opposite. He treats you like a human, a person, rather than a slave or a machine. He values your feelings and you value his too, and after a while you can both tell exactly what the other is feeling. When he’s upset, you can sense it in him. So you settle yourself in his lap and twist one of his ebony curls around your finger and you tell him how happy you are to have him. And how grateful you are to be his. And he kisses you and again tells you how lucky he is to be yours. 

And at the end of the day, it’s always the same. Both of you, sleeping peacefully together, as close as you can possibly be. His legs hooked under yours, your head under his chin, your hands entwined. 

And everything is alright.


End file.
